¡¡ CHROME OF A DREAM !!! - POETRY

 I

The silence swings slowly in the air.



The voice in my throat loses its weight,

and my hand caresses the shapes of my dream.



Shy, my senses enter with me into the temple,

seeing old images walking through the ships

with strange sacred songs on the lips

and, fearful, then contemplate their rags

as golden kings before God of the Gods.



II

Oh silent temple of sweet pink air!

You were the dwelling place of the first river in the world,

that went through the valleys like a peasant

to tell the rose that God was born

and to play with fish the game of the round.



III

Now I am alone. The soul takes me by the hand.

Ardent wonders bathe me in their incense.

If my glass fingers lifted an eyelid

In this moment, I would feel a little God.



Who knows if these sweet images that sing

They will call me brother in their pink language!



In this slight world rising in a kiss,

my people are colorful and do not feel in the shoulder

the pain, which tends throughout the body.



Here the angel is irritated and he raises his sword

every time they trample a satin on the earth;

and the stars do not spin dripping blood, wounded,

but like apples when they are born ripe

with the joy of being bitten by a child.



IV

I'll play hide-and-seek with the silly trees.

I will see your green glasses like children's heads

lean out, funny, behind the clean hillocks,

and on tiptoe to touch the branches

they will hide under their shadows, silent.



V

Like a meek star I make a round of lights

on the back of the deer and on the ripe fruit;

walk through the grass turned glass serpent;

hard white reflection in the underwater fish;

blue background in the glass of water on the table

and spike that two peasant boyfriends kissed.



VI

Recount the pulse of my blood drops .....